


Silver

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-21
Updated: 2006-03-21
Packaged: 2019-02-02 14:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12728544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Daniel POV, set in the years 2032-33. As Jack and Daniel prepare to celebrate their 25th anniversary as a married couple, life intrudes on their idyllic existence, tearing the two apart, leaving Daniel to deal with his future without Jack.





	Silver

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

  
Author's notes: Warnings: (Elderly) character death. Major hankie alert.  


* * *

~~Sunday, September 19, 2032~~

"The Lord be with you."

"And also with you."

"May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit," Father Fitzgerald intoned.

"Amen."

8AM Sunday mass was traditionally a quiet time. We never saw more than about fifty parishioners at the early mass. Jack preferred the peace and quiet, no whiny kids, no crying babies. The dedicated few, he said, that was who you saw at 8AM on Sundays. And that suited Jack just fine. 

Mass over, I looked over to my right at Jack as he lifted his head. I reached over to grab his left hand and his warm fingers squeezed mine. His right hand came over and he clasped my hand against his thigh. I knew he was always grateful to have me with him at mass. We came just about every Sunday and had for ten years, ever since we'd moved to Minneapolis. The Church of the Annunciation had become Jack's parish. The people there knew we were married and they had always been accepting of us. As far as I could tell, in the whole ten years we'd attended church there, no one had ever looked askance at us or made any trouble. 

I turned Jack's hands to look at his wedding ring, right next to mine. Our matching rings had been on our left hands for just a week short of twenty-five years, ever since we'd slipped them on each other's fingers back on September 25, 2007. Fashioned of a heavy silver band, they had alternating ankh and infinity symbols in a raised design all along the outside of the band. The symbols had worn and flattened over the years. Both of our rings glowed with a patina that spoke of much love, much dedication, and much time passed. To my knowledge, Jack had never taken his ring off since the day I had slipped it on him. 

I lifted my eyes from his ring to Jack's profile. My handsome husband was going to be 78 years old soon. I had turned 66 back in July. It didn't seem possible. Sometimes we laughed about it. How in hell had we two old cronies ever found each other? How could two people from such different backgrounds and experiences have made such a success of their union? But we had, on every level, and accompanying my spouse to Sunday mass, which I knew made him deeply happy, was something I felt privileged to do.

I leaned towards Jack and spoke quietly in his ear. "Ready to go, hon?"

He turned his head and smiled at me. My breath caught in my throat, as it often did when I saw the naked love and need in his eyes. No one had ever looked at me like Jack did. I couldn't imagine that anyone ever would. 

"Sure, Danny," he breathed. His smile was full of joy. I knew that I had put that joy on his face. Jack was content, and I would always do whatever I could to see that he stayed that way. 

The other parishioners were making their way up the center aisle of the church, greeting one another. Some shared hugs and a quiet smile, enjoying the only contact many of us had with each other during the week. The church had become a safe place for most of us, a place of peace and quiet, of serenity. The filtered light coming through the old stained glass windows, reflecting off the dark wood of the pews and pillars, lent an air of timelessness to the place. It smelled of candle wax, dust, and furniture polish. 

Although my faith was different from Jack's, maybe less evolved or something, I had come to believe that when we were at mass, we truly were on a kind of holy ground. I had learned not to question such heart knowledge anymore. It was a matter of faith, and not to be understood in the mind. I had gotten quite mellow in my old age, accepting of things I knew I could never understand. 

I smiled back at Jack and took him by the elbow, helping him to his feet, although he didn't really need me to. "Come on, old man," I murmured in his ear. "Time for a drink and some breakfast." He nodded in agreement. 

As we turned to leave our pew, several people came up to greet us, to shake hands and wish us a good day, a good week, and God bless. We slowly wended our way to the back of the church. At the inner doors, where a basin of holy water stood, Jack dipped his fingers into the water and used it to cross himself before he stepped through the doors, something he did every week. 

I followed along behind him, and we greeted Father Fitz at the door, saying a word or two about the good weather and wishing him a good week. The Father always called Jack "General" and me "Doctor," and as friendly as the priest was, more familiarity had never been forthcoming in all the years we'd known the man. Our Sunday routine never really changed. 

Out in the parking lot, I unlocked the Mercedes and opened the door for Jack. Once he was settled, seat belt on, I went around and climbed in to drive us home. I put on my own seat belt and looked over at him. "Home, Jack, or do you want to go out to eat?"

He looked out his side window, his hands clasped in his lap. "Home, please," he said softly. He turned his head and looked at me. "Feeling a little tired today, Danny. Do you mind going home?"

I sat back in my seat and looked at him over the rims of my glasses. "You're tired because you kept me up half the night." I grinned at him.

He waggled his eyebrows at me. "Sexy old man," he said, with a knowing grin of his own.

"Dirty old codger."

He snickered. "Old coot."

"Geezer." I poked him in the arm.

"Hey, there's snow on the roof, but fire in the furnace, Danny."

I laughed and reached for his hand. "I guess the hell there is!"

"'Course it's lit by Viagra now, but lit is lit, right?" He smirked at me.

With a last squeeze of his fingers, I reached to start the car. "We supposed to be talking about this in the church parking lot?"

He crossed his arms, the defiant old Jack again. "God, yes. I don't suppose anything we do is exactly a secret from him, huh? Anyway, we're married, so it's allowed," he sniffed.

I drove out of the lot and turned right into the early morning traffic. "Yup, Jack, you made an honest man outta me a long time ago. No more living in sin!"

He reached over and pinched my thigh, just to hear me yelp. I batted his hand away.

Laughing, we headed for home.

* * *

Lake Calhoun was a beautiful little community, part of the urban Minneapolis area, but it had such a rural feeling about it, it was easy to forget how close to the city we lived. Our home was right on the lake, custom built for our kids and us ten years before. Our view, across the water, was of the Minneapolis skyline, about five miles away. 

The edges of our property ran right down to the lake itself, where cattails grew and water lilies flourished in the summer. Mallard ducks, Canada geese and a pair of nesting swans shared our space year round, keeping the water open near our yard even in the winter. We fed the birds in the deepest part of each winter, and so they brought many of their friends by each January and February, when food was scarce. It made us happy to help the wild creatures. Now, in September, when the living was easy, we saw the wild birds occasionally and even had a white tailed deer or two wander by on occasion. 

Jack and I had been so glad to find such a peaceful place to live and finish raising our twins in his beloved Minnesota. The kids had finished their public schooling in a wholesome environment, getting the best education the city of Minneapolis had to offer. Then we had packed them both off to Harvard in Cambridge, Massachusetts, in the fall of '29, leaving us with an empty nest except during the summers and school breaks. Our kids had thrived, each of them a success in their own ways. Now, at the ripe old age of 21, they were truly adults. Jack and I were proud of them, and we'd always made sure they knew it.

They had been conceived in-vitro with eggs from a donor we had carefully chosen but never met, using a mixture of sperm from both Jack and I. They had then been implanted in a surrogate mother, who had been selfless enough to have carried and then given birth to our beautiful children. She had handed them over to us when they were three days old as though it were the most natural thing in the world. 

Jack and I had looked into the faces of the twins and had immediately fallen in love with them. When they were born, we had no idea which of us was their biological father, and we didn't care. But within several weeks, it was patently obvious that the good Lord had blessed each of us with a child. Our daughter, Dana Claire, was the spitting image of me. Blond, blue eyed, curious about everything, and, as I often reminded Jack, the sweetest, most even-tempered baby one could imagine. Our son, Jonathan Daniel, on the other hand, had to be Jack's. Dark hair and chocolate eyes, all attitude from the moment he came home with us, later bossing his sister and his Dads around, laughing and joking and just generally getting into everything. 

The two kids couldn't have been more different if they tried, just like Jack and I, and they loved each other with fierce devotion, right from the get go, just like Jack and I. Growing up with two Dads and no Mom hadn't been easy, but our kids knew they were loved, every minute of every day, and they knew they were valued as individuals and as family. 

Dana Jackson-O'Neill, blond and blue eyed, tall and slender, was very bookish like I had been in school. She was beautiful, possessed of an unassuming radiance that left many members of the opposite sex dropping like flies in her wake. She only had ever seriously looked at one young man, and she had married him in her junior year at Harvard. Her husband was a fellow student of archaeology and would be graduating from Harvard with her the next spring. Jack and I loved Christopher Wellington like he was our own son, and welcomed him into our family. He and Dana were very young, but they'd said they were in love, and they'd promised to finish school, so we'd allowed them to marry with our blessing. 

Dana had kept her Jackson-O'Neill surname but had promised her husband that any children they might have would bear his Wellington name. She and Chris loved archaeology with a passion like I did, and seeing them poring over their books, glasses falling down their noses, blond heads almost touching, brought me back to my undergrad days, when every class I took was a door to a new world. I envied them their youth, even as I was ecstatically happy for them.

Jonathan Jackson-O'Neill was drop dead gorgeous like his father, with beautiful, deep-set brown eyes and dark wavy hair around his shoulders. He had Jack's large nose and high cheekbones, and was as tall, with the same long legs, long elegant hands, and oddly protruding thumb joints. Looking at Jon, I could envision what Jack must have looked like at that age. 

Jon was a good student, too, like Dana, but for a very different reason. No poring over the books for Jon. He just used his fine mind to remember everything every teacher told him, skimmed lightly through his textbooks, and was wily enough to be able to spit everything back at test time in almost photographic clarity. The kid was brilliant, majoring in applied physics at Harvard, a rigorous course of study by anyone's standards. He was also a wise ass and a clown, and loved to have fun. 

In high school, Jon had avoided dealing with his sexuality, and except for a couple of proms, he'd never dated anyone until he went away to Harvard. There, in the freedom of the atmosphere of a liberal Eastern university, he'd finally been able to come to terms with the fact that he was gay like his Dads. As a sophomore, he had met Josh Melville at a gay and lesbian college mixer, and they had fallen in love. Jon and Josh were night and day, like Jack and I. Josh was blond, serious, possessed of a shy smile and a quick wit, a musician who was a senior at Berklee in Boston, majoring in piano and voice. Jon said he made him happy. They were in love and had talked about marriage. So who knew what graduation would bring to our son and his lover? 

Jack and I hoped and prayed for the best, of course. For both of our kids and their SO's.

When Jack had retired in 2007, with the rank of Brigadier General, we had been almost immediately married, joined first as civil domestic partners and then later in full fledged marriage, once that became legal in Colorado in 2010. 

He had stayed busy through the years, doing some teaching, doing consulting work for airlines and security organizations, but mostly he'd been at home, raising our kids, taking care of me, doing volunteer work with children and for the SPCA, his two passions besides his family. 

As for myself, I had worked for the SGC until 2022, when it had just seemed like time to move on. We'd taken the kids, moved to Minneapolis, and literally started our life over. I was gone a lot in those next years, working for foreign governments, doing consulting in translation work, lending my expertise to museums and universities wherever I could. Gradually I had found some acceptance in certain circles in my areas of academia. It had been fulfilling to be published again, and to lecture on my work. 

The SGC and the Stargate were still highly classified, even after thirty-six years of operation, so although I had prepared my memoirs about my involvement with the gate, I really believed that they probably would never be published in my lifetime. 

Finally, last year, when I had turned 65, Jack had sat me down and reminded me that we were getting older. He never said we were "old" but I'd had to admit he was right; there was a lot of snow on the roof for both of us. It had been time for me to settle down, live a quiet life, relax, and take time to smell the roses. It had been hard at first, but in the end I found that being at home with him full time was the best decision I could have made. It had been a blessing time of renewal for us, rediscovering our love for each other in a new way. We made love on the living room couch again, the way we had before we'd had the kids, getting as loud as we wanted to on the Viagra Nights, as Jack called them. We'd held each other, and kissed each other, and we'd rediscovered the love and passion we'd shared all along, in a new and richer way from what we'd known before. 

Jack O'Neill was my soul mate. I had never looked at anyone else in the 30 years I had belonged to him, and, I was willing to bet, he hadn't looked at anyone else either. From the moment we had become lovers, I had never had any reason to look elsewhere. Jack had always given me everything I needed.

* * *

Arriving home from church that Sunday morning, I drove down the long driveway approaching our house. The lake, behind our property, was the exact same color as the sky. The distant Minneapolis skyline shone white and silver gray in the bright sunlight. Cerulean blue skies, peaceful, sunny, the day was gorgeous. I heard Jack sigh and looked over at him.

"I still love this place, Daniel," he murmured. He touched the button to roll down the window, and I stopped the car half way down to the house so he could look out at the view for a minute. He leaned sideways, sticking his nose outside, and inhaled the fresh air. "What a beautiful day." He leaned his elbow on the windowsill, and I watched him as he turned his head to look around outside the car.

I waited to see what he might say or do next. I always wanted to hear what Jack had to say about things, and had found that waiting quietly was the best way to get him to talk. I put the car in park and shut off the ignition. In the sudden quiet, I reached over to put my hand on the back of his neck, gently caressing the corded muscles there and then running my fingers up into his silver hair, still thick at his neckline. He pressed his head back into the palm of my hand with another sigh but continued to gaze outside.

A couple of minutes went by while I watched Jack as he breathed the warm air and looked out at the lake. At last, he slowly turned his head towards me. His tanned face, lined and weathered now from age and sun exposure, was so beloved to me. Removing my hand from his neck, I traced my index finger along the crease from the side of his nose down to his mouth and then used the back of my hand to caress his soft cheek. His brown eyes, still clear and unaffected by his age, were the color of Irish whiskey, smoky, liquid depths that I never got tired of looking into.

"Do you know how much I love you, Jack?" I whispered.

He nodded. "About half as much as I love you," he told me. He grinned at me, just a little upturning of the corners of his mouth. He reached out and took hold of my chin, turning my face slightly from side to side. "Look at you. My beautiful husband." He shook his head slightly, wonderingly. "You're still as gorgeous as the day I first met you, back in '96. More so now." He took a deep breath, dropped his hand into his lap, and looked at me very seriously. 

"Promise me something, Daniel." At my inquiring look, he leaned towards me a little, as if for emphasis. "If anything ever happens to me, you'll find someone else to love. You'll go on with your life. You'll be happy."

I snorted at him softly. "What?"

"What what?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Don't play stupid, Jack. You know what what."

"Okay but don't YOU play stupid, either." He looked down his nose at me and pursed his lips. "I mean it, Danny. If I'm gone and you spend the whole rest of your life moping around and crying, I'll fuckin' come back and haunt you." At my laugh, which he did not return, he said, "I'm serious." 

He took off his seat belt and swiveled awkwardly in his seat to face me better. I took off mine, too, and twisted around towards him. He grabbed my hands. "Promise me, dammit." He squeezed my hands and shook them for emphasis.

I sucked on my lower lip and just looked at him. 

"Promise me," he whispered. He dropped my hands and gripped my face with his fingers. He drew me close, leaned in, and kissed me. When he tilted his head back, I saw one tear escape his eye and run down his face. "Promise me, Danny." He caressed my cheeks with his fingers.

"Jack," I breathed at him. I wiped at his tear with the tip of one finger and looked into his eyes. "You're scaring me. What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on." He dropped his hands to my shoulders and held on tight. "Dammit, Daniel. I'm just askin' ya a simple thing here. Pay attention!" He made an effort to smile and to put a teasing note in his voice. "Just say it, will ya? I'm starving and it's time to go inside and eat something and let Molly out to pee."

"You want me to promise? Promise what exactly?" I actually knew exactly what he wanted me to promise, but I guess I needed to hear him repeat it. Thinking about any possible life I'd have without Jack was not something I ever let my mind or heart consider. And I couldn't fathom why Jack was bringing this up now. "And why are you bringing this up now?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Jack sat back in his seat and dropped his hands in his lap. "Will you for once just do what I ask without thinking everything to death and having to know every why and wherefore? Just promise me that if I die you'll still have a life, okay?" He looked over at me again. "And don't look at me like that. Aw, God." He reached for my hand. "Just make an old man happy and say you promise that you'll remember that this is what I wanted for you, will ya? Please? Please, Danny."

Okay, that wasn't playing fair. Jack knew that whenever he pleaded with me and combined the pleading with saying please, I never could refuse him anything. I bared my teeth at him in what I hoped looked like a reassuring smile. Probably it looked more like a grimace, but I was making an effort anyway.

"Okay, Jack, I promise." 

He sat back against his door, looking relieved. 

"Okay? You happy?"

He smiled a little tight smile and reached for my hand again. "Yes, ecstatically. Daniel. You have made me a very happy man for nearly half of my life. But God, I'm 78 fuckin' years old. I look at you, and you look like a spring chicken to me." He chuckled. "Not that you didn't always look like a spring chicken compared to me." 

He drew my hand over onto his thigh, spreading out my fingers on his leg and then running his finger down the length of each of mine, one at a time, looking down at my hand almost like he'd never seen it before. He continued speaking without looking at me. "You've made me the happiest man in the world, Daniel. All of these years. I can't imagine anyone I could have been happier with. I can't imagine anyone who would have put up with my shit all these years like you have. And on top of all that, God gave us two beautiful kids to raise together. We've had such a wonderful life." 

He suddenly looked up at me and caught the look on my face. My lips were trembling and unshed tears stood in my eyes. "Aw, Danny, for crissake. I never want to leave you alone, you know that. Who the hell is gonna take care of you? I worry about that. But I know you're strong, and I know you can do anything you put your mind to. 

"I remember how I was when Charlie died, and I don't want that for you, honey. I want you to choose life, a real life, a full life. And I want you to find someone else to love, someone to sleep with and wake up with and eat with and have fun with."

He was calling me honey. He never fucking called me honey. I blinked, and the tears escaped my eyes and ran down my face unheeded. "No, Jack..." 

He leaned forward and got in my face, his hands on my shoulders again. He was shaking me gently, insistently. "Yes, goddamn it, Daniel. Yes! You promised!"

I nodded, speechless for a moment. "Okay, Jack," I finally managed to tell him. "Don't get upset. Whatever the future brings, I promise I'll do my best, okay?" My mind was saying no, though. No. No. No. No. No.

He dropped his hands and turned around to face forward again. "Okay," he murmured. "It's all I ask. You do your best. Your best is plenty good enough for me." He looked over at me with a gentle smile. "Don't cry, Danny. Let's go in now. I'm starving."

I wiped at my wet eyes with my fingertips and reached to start the car. Shoving it into drive, I mumbled, "Yes, Sir, General O'Neill." He reached over, put his warm hand on my thigh, and gave me a squeeze.

* * *

The house was quiet as we let ourselves in through the garage. "Where's my girl?" Jack called out. Almost immediately Molly, our German Shepherd, appeared, walking slowly but wagging her tail enthusiastically, tongue lolling out like she'd just run a marathon. I gave her an absent minded scratch as she walked by me, directly to Jack. I watched them for a second as Jack leaned over her, looking down into her face, crooning to her and scratching her neck, running his hands down her back. "How's my girl this morning, huh?" Jack was greeting his girlfriend. She made him happy, too. I shook my head and smiled at their little reunion. 

"I'm gonna get the drinks made, Jack, and see what Connie left us for food, okay?" I started walking into the kitchen, not waiting for his answer. I always put our Sunday brunches together when we ate at home. Connie, our housekeeper, left us tons of food in the fridge every weekend, to tide us over until Monday when she'd be back. The food she left for us every Friday night could have tided over a small battalion. 

As I opened the fridge, Jack came up behind me. "I'm gonna take Molly out back for a few. You wanna eat out on the deck?"

I turned and smiled at him. "Sure, Jack, you go ahead." I watched him call the dog and slowly ease open the sliders onto the deck, Molly right on his heels. He pushed the screen closed, giving me a wink and a smile as he caught me watching him. Patting Molly again, they went down over the steps and onto the lawn together. 

The food momentarily forgotten, I went to the door to watch them, two old dogs, happy to be together. Molly was ten, bought as a puppy ostensibly for the kids when we'd moved to Minneapolis, but she'd never been anyone's dog but Jack's. She was now almost as old as him, in dog years. She gamely went after the Frisbee that Jack threw for her, returning again and again to him, tongue hanging out, always having a doggy smile for him. He leaned over, talked to her, and patted her whenever she came back to him, praising her and telling her what a good dog she was. And she was. Even I knew that. 

As I turned to go back to getting the food ready, the phone rang. It was Jon, just calling from Cambridge to check in and say hi. He was getting settled into his last year at Harvard very well. Sharing an apartment off campus with Josh that year, he sounded happy and very adult. 

"Your arrangements are all made for next Saturday, right?" I asked him. "You and Josh both are coming, right?"

"Yes, Dad," he said patiently, "You know we wouldn't miss your party. And Dana and Chris are booked on the same flight, so we're coming in bright and early on Saturday. We wouldn't miss it. It's not every day our two fathers celebrate their twenty-fifth anniversary." He chuckled. 

"Okay, son," I told him. "You know it wouldn't be the same for either of us if all of you guys couldn't come. 

"You wanna talk to the General?" I joked. Of course he did, he always did. "Hang on."

I already was walking to the door to call Jack. "Hey, Jack!" I called out. "Jon's on the phone, come talk to him."

Jack looked up and started walking back to the deck, so I went outside, bringing him the phone. I pointed to one of the deck chairs, indicating that he should sit down and rest, and he did so as I said good-bye to Jon. 

"'Kay, Jon, here's your father. It was nice talking to you. Can't wait to see you next weekend. Love you," I told him, and handed the phone to Jack.

Back inside the house, I stood at the doorway again, watching the back of Jack's head as he talked to his son. Tears gathered in my eyes as Jack's words in the car came back to me. Jack never talked about things like that. He told me he loved me all the time, but most touchy feely stuff was beyond him. That's why I'd sort of lost it, letting him see my tears. The one tear that had come down his face was a surprise, since he so rarely cried. 

I heard him laugh, probably listening to Jon's latest joke. The two of them really were cut from the same cloth, and I was fiercely in love with both of them, as I was with Dana.

"Okay, son," I heard Jack say at last. "Tell Josh we said hey, all right? Yeah, I will. You be good, too. Can't wait to see you guys in a few days." He paused. "I love you, too, Jonathan Jackson- O'Neill. Don't you ever forget it," he said solemnly. He slowly hung up the phone and put it on the small table next to him. I watched him rest his head back and put his sunglasses on. Molly slid her head onto his lap, and he idly caressed her ear.

* * *

Late that night in our bed, Jack held me tightly; my head nestled under his chin. He ran his hand up and down my back, kissing my temple and my hair. We had just spent the better part of two hours making long, slow love to one other. Our bedroom was filled with bright moonlight, the drapes opened to the night, the windows ajar to the warm outside air. It was perfectly quiet in our room. I could hear Jack's heartbeat near my ear where it rested on his chest. 

"Danieldanieldaniel," he whispered. "My love. I love you." He pressed his lips to my forehead. "My Daniel." 

I wriggled around a little, trying to press myself closer to him. "Jack," I murmured. How many times had I lain like this in his arms, sated with our lovemaking, sticky and a little chilly, the sweat of our passion cooling on my skin? Thousands, probably. But never enough. Never enough.

I pressed my lips to his neck, nuzzling him, kissing the soft skin there, licking where I had just kissed. I tightened my arm around his waist and tried to convey to him how much I loved him with my touch. 

He was the most wonderful lover I had ever had. When I remembered back almost thirty years, to the first few times he'd touched me, I had known then that I never would be happy with anyone else in my bed, not ever again. He had absolutely spoiled me for anybody else. I was loved, pampered, coddled, stroked, kissed, and treated with the utmost respect and consideration, even as he took my breath away with his demanding, unrelenting passion. No one else, I thought, could ever have brought me such incredible gifts, over and over and over again. 

I tilted my head back to try to see his face in the moonlight. His full head of silver hair glowed, dark eyes unreadable in the dim light. "Do you know how much I love you?" he asked softly. He touched my face, his expression reverent.

"Only about half as much as I love you," I answered. We said these same words to each other all the time. And meant it, every time.

"You are so beautiful, Danny," he breathed. His eyes roved over my face, looking at me like he wanted to memorize my features. Suddenly he pulled me to him for another long, deep kiss.

When we broke apart, breathless, he reached down to draw the sheet up over us. "Go to sleep, baby," he murmured. "I'm right here. Everything's okay."

I sighed in contentment, gathered up under his chin again. 

"I love you," I heard him whisper, just as my eyes closed and I drifted away.

* * *

~~Monday, September 20, 2032~~

I awoke to a chilly bedroom, the early light just coming in through the uncovered windows. I rolled over onto my back, squinting my eyes into the slanting rays of the early sun, washing over the bed. A glance at the clock told me that it was just after 7. I looked over at Jack's side of the bed, but he wasn't there. It wasn't unusual for him to be up before me.

I turned over onto my side again and closed my eyes. The house was very quiet. I was cold, so I finally decided I'd get up, pull on my sweats, and go to the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bed and slid my glasses onto my face. 

Once dressed, I went to the bathroom and then decided to look for Jack. Out in the hall, I called out to him, "Jack?" I padded down to the kitchen, and not finding him there, I decided to look in our office, where Jack often went to read. I wondered if maybe he hadn't been able to sleep and had gone in there where he wouldn't disturb me.

At the door to the office, I paused, looking in. Jack was lying in the recliner, feet up, an afghan thrown over him, pulled up to his chest. His reading glasses were perched on his nose. The huge biography of Winston Churchill he'd been trying to get through for a few weeks was lying open on his chest. His eyes were closed, and his hands rested on the spine of the book, one folded over the other. Molly was at his side, sitting on the floor next to Jack's chair, her nose lying on top of his hands. The morning sun was slanting in through the window behind him, lighting up his silver hair so that it looked like a halo. 

I tiptoed over to him and spoke to Molly. "Hey, girl, whatcha doin', watching Dad sleep?" At my voice, her eyes rolled back to look at me and she blinked, but she never moved her head. I stroked her back and looked down at Jack. 

I guess I'll never be sure when I began to know. Within moments, I suppose, I suddenly became aware that Jack wasn't breathing. His eyes were closed, as I said, and he was very still, his mouth hanging open just a bit. But there was no snoring, no rise and fall of his chest. 

"Jack?" I leaned closer. Molly made a tiny whining sound in her throat, and her tail thumped the floor a couple of times. 

"Oh, God, Jack!" I ran my hands down his arms and then rushed to feel for a pulse in his wrist. Along with the shocking knowledge that I could feel no pulse came the even more shocking awareness that he was cold. Not only was he dead, he'd been dead for a while.

I dropped his hand like it had burned me and stumbled back a couple of steps. "Jack?"

I stared at his face in horror. This could not be happening. Not today. The sun was shining. Our anniversary was in six days. We had a party planned, and the kids were coming, as were about a hundred other people. We'd made love just a few hours before. He loved me. 

"Jack?" 

I held a trembling hand over my mouth, distantly wondering if I would throw up. I didn't know what to do. He was cold. It had been a while, but I'd seen plenty of death back in our old SG-1 days, and I knew what it looked like. I knew what someone being that cold meant. 

My Jack was gone. Dead. 

I backed away from him to the doorway of the room and stood frozen for a few moments, my eyes wide with shock. He was gone. Jack was gone. I ran my hand over my forehead and then through my hair, trying to get a grip. I knew I had to do something, call someone, but I couldn't seem to make a decision about anything. He was cold. Calling 911 was useless. 

"Molly?" I called softly to the dog. Her tail thumped again, but she didn't turn to look at me. "Come on, girl," I crooned. She ignored me. "Come on, Molly." Jack was dead, and Molly knew it. Jack was dead. Oh, Christ almighty in heaven, Jack was dead.

I walked swiftly over to Molly, got ahold of her collar, and gently tugged at her. "Molly? C'mon, sweetie, we'll go outside so you can pee and I'll give you your breakfast this morning 'cause Dad can't-"

Molly never moved or acknowledged my tugging or my words. A fresh wave of horror and grief hit me again. Jack was dead.

I fell to my knees next to Molly and looked at my husband. He was dead. 

The tears, when they arrived, really were not a surprise. The primal wail that burst out of the core of me was. I collapsed onto Jack's lap, my hands clutching at his cold ones on top of the book. From somewhere deep within me came keening cries of despair that I didn't know I could make. 

My Jack. My lover. My love. My world. He was gone. This wasn't fair. I wanted him back. I needed more time. I wasn't ready. I'd never be ready. And I missed him already. Jack! 

I cried and sobbed, soaking Jack's lap with a flood of tears, spit and snot. 

Many minutes went by before I became dimly aware of my surroundings again. Molly had never left my side. I sat back, my knees numb from being on the hard floor for so long. I drew my legs up under myself and sat cross-legged on the floor next to Jack's chair. Taking off my tear-spattered glasses, I used my tee shirt to wipe my nose and eyes. My breath came in shuddering gasps. I was exhausted and bereft, and I didn't fucking know what to do. 

Molly lay down and nestled her muzzle in my lap. I placed a hand on the back of her neck, my head hanging, my chin on my chest, eyes closed. The three of us stayed together for a while before I moved again.

* * *

Silver ~~Tuesday, September 21, 2032~~

"No, I can drive myself. Connie, I need to see my kids as soon as I can. I can't sit here and do nothing and wait while someone else picks them up at the airport." I looked down into the kindly, concerned face of my housekeeper. She was worried about me, but tried to smile reassuringly.

She had been the first person I'd called after I'd finally been able to function enough to move after I'd found Jack. I had known she would come running, and she had, almost literally, bringing her husband Bob with her to help me and do whatever they could. Connie and Bob Santos had been with Jack and I practically from the day we'd moved to Minneapolis. They were far more than just employees to us. They had become our friends. I had known that Connie would come and help me deal with the reality of what had happened, and I had been right. 

When she'd arrived, she'd found me slumped in a chair out on the deck with Molly by my feet, numb and not dealing with anything. After greeting me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and finding I had called no one else, she had called Father Fitz at the church. Coming immediately to see me, he had sat with me at my kitchen table for a few minutes while Connie had pretended to be busy cooking over at the stove. She'd been stirring something in a pot, but I'd known she was worried about me and undoubtedly listening to us, which I hadn't minded a bit.

I had listened to the priest's words of compassion and understanding with tears pouring down my face. 

"He was a good man," he'd murmured to me. I'd looked into his quiet, unassuming face, so filled with a peace that I could only envy. "And he loved you so much. One only had to look at him when you were nearby to see it. You and he were very blessed. He was a very special person, and I will miss him." I'd only nodded, fresh tears arising unbidden. 

He had held my hands and prayed with me and when I looked up again I saw tears on his face, too. He cared, and it meant a lot. 

"Can I go in to see him now?" he asked me gently. "I need to anoint him." I had nodded again and wearily got to my feet to follow him to where Jack lay.

We had quietly crept into the office and I'd watched from the doorway while the Father had put on a narrow purple sash and broken open the carrying case holding the holy oil he would use for the rites. He bent over Jack's body as he anointed him and prayed for his soul. His voice had reached me as a low murmur. I'd bitten my lips to keep from sobbing, but I'm sure the Father had heard my sniffling and gasping breaths. 

When he'd finished, he took off his sash, kissing it and then folding it to return it to the small case. Then he'd turned and walked over to me, put an arm around my shoulders and led me out of the room. 

"Daniel. I want to stay with you for a while now. Is that okay?" I had nodded again. It was the first time I'd ever heard him use my first name instead of calling me Doctor Jackson.

And so he and Connie, bless their hearts, had stayed with me while I called a funeral home to come and get Jack. And then I'd called my kids, making the calls I'd dreaded since I'd found Jack. 

Surely telling Jon and Dana about their father was the most difficult thing I'd ever had to do. Their Dad was gone, and they had to come home. I needed them to come home. Reaching some place deep inside myself that I didn't even know existed, I'd been able to be gentle with Jon and Dana, listening to them cry, listening to the disbelief and grief in their voices, and somehow, by the grace of God himself, I'd gotten through it. 

The funeral home people had arrived at the house, the state coroner arriving right after them, all dressed in their somber clothes with very serious faces. I'd greeted them, answered their questions, signed some papers, and then locked myself in our bedroom while they'd taken Jack away. I hadn't been able to bear to watch. 

My first day without Jack had mercifully passed swiftly. It had been an odd day of many phone calls made and received, trying to remember to eat, and finding myself comforting others who called or came by to comfort me. To say it had been bizarre was an understatement. 

That night, I'd taken a couple of strong sleeping pills and fallen into bed thoroughly wrung out. I'd slept with no dreams and only cried when I woke up, automatically reaching for Jack and finding instead that his side of the bed was cold and undisturbed. In the morning, I had buried my head in Jack's pillow, which still spelled of his shampoo and aftershave, and shed the first tears of the day, ones I knew wouldn't be the last.

Later that morning, I wanted to drive myself to the airport and pick up the kids, who were coming in with their SO's. Connie said she understood why I needed to go alone and drive myself, and shortly I found myself on the highway, rushing to Minneapolis-St. Paul International, anxious to get my arms around my son and daughter. I needed them. I couldn't have Jack, but I could have Jon and Dana, and I needed to see them as soon as I could.

* * *

I went as far into the airport as I was allowed. No one is allowed past security without a boarding pass for a flight, so I found myself waiting for the kids quite a ways from the gate through which they would arrive from Boston. I stood in the wide, brightly lit corridor, shifting from foot to foot, straining my eyes for a first glimpse of my loved ones. Scores of people filed past me, arriving from their flights, but I ignored them, looking for a blond head walking next to a taller dark one. 

When I finally saw them, the tears welled up in my eyes again. As my face crumpled, I held one hand over my mouth and leaned hard against the wall beside me. Our beautiful children had finally arrived, and one of them looked so much like Jack, I couldn't seem to breathe. 

"Thank God," I whispered to myself. "Oh, Jack." I gave it up then, knowing there was no way I could keep myself from crying. I would just let them see me the way I really was, and we'd deal with it together. 

Dana saw me first. Her face lit up in recognition, and she poked Jon and pointed. Then I saw her start to cry, as she realized that I was crying too. The last few steps towards me were made at a dead run, and she crashed into my arms. "Daddy!" We held each other and sobbed quietly. I was utterly incapable of speech. "Daddy, Daddy, I'm so sorry." I held her tightly and kissed the top of her head. 

I looked up through my tears just as Jon came up to us. Without a word, he wrapped his long arms around the both of us and we three just clung to each other. After a couple of minutes, I lifted my head and looked for Josh and Chris, and found them hovering right behind their loved ones. 

With a last pat to Jon and Dana's backs, I eased back a little to look into their faces. I reached up and used one hand to caress my daughter's wet cheek and then to do the same to my son's. "I'm so glad you're here," I told them. With a deep breath, I turned to Chris and Josh and stuck out my hand to shake theirs. "You too, guys. Thanks for coming."

Chris, my son-in-law, moved in to give me a tight, fierce hug around the neck. "I'm so sorry, Daniel. God, I don't know what to say. I'm just so sorry." He released me and we exchanged a tight nod. 

Josh looked bereft, and I knew that the past twenty-four hours, since his Jon had gotten the news, had not been easy for him either. As I grasped his hand, I gave him a little smile. "You too, Josh, I'm so glad you're here with Jon." 

"It's where I belong," he very wisely answered. "I'm sorry for your loss, Daniel." 

Dana had fished a wad of tissues out of her purse and was handing some to me and then to her brother. All three of us wiped our eyes and blew our noses. 

I looked at Josh and thanked him again, wiping at my nose one last time. I made an effort to give them all a smile. Dana looped her arm through mine, leaning on me a little, and laid her head down on my shoulder. "Let's go home, Daddy," she murmured. 

I looked down at her and put my hand over hers on my arm. "Okay, sweetie. Let's." 

We started slowly walking up the corridor towards the baggage area. The feeling of my daughter's arm through mine was so comforting, I was almost staggered. I looked down at her again as we walked. "I love you," I told her softly, and she gave my arm a squeeze, looking up at me with blue eyes identical to my own.

"And I love you, too, Daddy. We all do. So much."

Jon came and threaded his arm through mine on my other side, so that I was sandwiched between my kids as we walked. I looked up at him slightly and he gave me a reassuring grin, so much like his father's had been. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Dad," he told me. And then, unknowingly repeating his father's last words to me, "Everything's okay. I love you." He patted my hand on his arm.

I could hardly walk for having my eyes on my loved ones, grateful to the core for their presence with me, and for their love.

* * *

The day passed swiftly. The kids put their things in their old rooms in our house, unpacking and making sure they were settled. Josh had never visited us at our home before, so he got the grand tour of the property, got acquainted with Connie and Bob and Molly, and just generally got acclimated to being a part of the Jackson- O'Neill clan.

Dana had been very quiet. I was a little worried about her, but I knew we'd have time to talk eventually, and meanwhile, I hugged her and loved on her, as did Connie. Dana was pale and her smiles were hesitant, so I knew she was suffering. So young to have had such a loss, I thought. So young, and it's always so hard when you have it happen to you for the first time. The first time one loses a loved one, I knew from personal experience, was always the sharpest knife. 

Dinner that night was almost festive. Our table groaned with the food that Connie had been cooking all day. The counters in the kitchen and shelves in the fridge were practically covered with dishes of food, desserts, all kinds of comfort food that had mysteriously appeared from neighbors and friends. 

With dessert served and coffee poured, Connie came over to me where I sat at the kitchen table with the four kids. Placing her hand on my shoulder, she leaned down to kiss my cheek. I looked up at her and grabbed her hand.

"I'm heading home now, Daniel. Anything you need before I leave?"

I smiled at her. "No, Connie. We'll be fine. See you in the morning?"

"First thing," she smiled at me. She looked around at the four young people, who were all watching us. "So wonderful to have all of you here for your Dad. It's so great to hear the house filled with young people's voices." She waved at all of us. "Night, now."

I dropped her hand. "Thanks for everything, Connie. You're the best. And Connie?" She looked at me with raised eyebrows. "Thanks again for what you did yesterday morning. Everything."

She hugged my neck and then started to back away. I could see her eyes filling with tears. "You're welcome," she whispered. "I loved him, too."

I nodded at her, trying not to cry. She gave us all another wave and then turned to leave for the night.

After she left, a silence fell around the table. The reality of what we were dealing with hung in the air between us. Jack's absence was palpable. 

I swallowed. I picked up my fork and idly drew circles in the chocolate cake crumbs in my plate, in front of me on the table. "Anybody want to talk about stuff?" I asked quietly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jon sit back in his chair, the air in his lungs escaping in a long, quiet whoosh. Everyone else sat as still as statues.

I lifted my eyes and looked at each of them in turn. "I know. Where to start, huh?"

I decided to jump into the silence. "We can go in the morning to see him. The funeral home called, and everything's all set. I ordered flowers from all of us. Roses. He loved roses. We used to grow them in the yard back in Colorado, do you remember? He loved roses. He-" Suddenly, I stopped talking as my voice broke, tears starting again, something I had struggled with all day. 

Dana and Jon each reached out a hand across the table and grabbed one of my wrists. I sniffed and shook my head slightly. I swallowed again and gamely continued. "So anyway, we can go see him tomorrow. No one will see him except for the five of us, and then Connie and Bob. That's the way he wanted it. He always said he hated wakes, hated the way people would file by the dead person and make comments about how they looked like they were just sleeping. He thought that was ghoulish. Macabre. So he made me promise I would never do that to him, and I won't." The kids sat quietly, just listening.

"I want to ask you guys if it would be okay if we could have the funeral on Saturday. Everyone was gonna come to our party. It's our anniversary." I looked down at my plate again. "Well, it would have been our anniversary." I bit my lower lip and forced myself to keep speaking. "If we have the funeral Saturday, you guys could all fly home on Sunday. I know it's a few days away, and if you think it's dragging everything out too much, maybe we could do it earlier. But Saturday is a good day, people aren't working, and like I say, everyone was coming in for the party anyway..." I trailed off, realizing I was rambling.

Dana started to cry, lowering her face into her hand. Chris stood up, went to her, and put his arms around her. She buried her head in his chest. Over her head, Chris's eyes locked with mine. 

I stood up too and went to them. I bent over Dana and spoke into her ear. I put my hand on her shoulder. "Sweetie, why don't you go and lie down. Let Chris get you settled and see if you can get some sleep. You're worn out. Things will be hard tomorrow, but I promise, we'll get through it together." She nodded and made an effort to look up at me. "Go, now, with Chris, and rest, honey, okay? We can talk in the morning some more. There's plenty of time."

I stood back and watched while she got up and went off to bed, her husband's arm around her.

I sat down again and looked at Josh and Jon. "I'm sorry. There's just no easy way to get around any of this, is there?" I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. 

Josh and Jon exchanged a look and Josh stood up and went to my son. He bent down, one arm around his shoulders, and they kissed gently. Josh laid his head next to Jon's, their temples touching, blond curls mixing with dark wavy hair. "I'm gonna turn in, Jon," he murmured into his ear. "Wake me up when you come to bed if you want." He tilted his head back and they gazed into each other's eyes for a moment. 

Jon nodded and reached up to pat his cheek. "I won't be long, babe. I just wanna talk to Dad for a little while."

Josh smiled at him and then looked over at me. "Good night, Daniel. If you need anything during the night, just holler, okay?"

"Good night, Josh. I'll be fine. Have a good rest."

Josh turned and left the room. 

I picked up my coffee cup and sipped at the cold decaf. Nasty stuff. I looked at Jon over the rim of my mug. Putting it down again, I said, "You're lucky to have him, Jon. But you know that, don't you?"

Jon smiled, slumped back in his chair, a picture of the old, easy Jack, all long legs and good natured attitude. He laughed softly. "I do know it. He's the best thing that's ever happened to me. We are nothing alike, just like you and Dad were. And I love him so much it hurts sometimes." He paused. "You know what that's like, don't you?"

"I sure do. I sure do, Son."

Jon leaned forward in his chair and looked into my eyes. "Tell me about him, Dad. Tell me about my father. All my life, he's just been there, bigger than life to me. And now he's gone. I know he loved Dana and me. He told us all the time. But I don't know if I ever knew Jack O'Neill the man. I knew Jack O'Neill the father, the dad, but not the man. Tell me about him, Dad. Please."

I looked at him for a minute, trying to decide what he needed from me. When I opened my mouth to speak, I wasn't sure what would come out. 

"He was the bravest man I ever met. He wasn't afraid of anyone or anything. If you were his friend, you were his friend for life. He was absolutely loyal to anyone he cared about. He treated me like a king every day we had together. He loved me and never really asked for anything for himself. Anything I wanted, all I had to do was tell him, and somehow, if it were humanly possible, he got it done for me. He was generous and kind and passionate and funny and a pain in the ass sometimes, and he always..." I stopped talking abruptly, overwhelmed with tears again. "He always loved me, Jon. He loved me, and never looked at anyone else, for almost 30 years. He was my soul mate. And I miss him..." 

Jon got up and quickly came to put his arms around me, and we clung to each other. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But I miss him, Jon, I just miss him. I want him back. Oh, God, I want him back." Jon rocked me in his arms, listening to my misery, undoubtedly miserable himself. He held me while I cried.

"Shhhh," he murmured over my head. "We're gonna be okay, Dad. We're gonna be okay. Of course you miss him. You always will. You loved each other. You made a home together. You raised us kids together. God, I'm so sorry, Dad. So very sorry." He tightened his arms around me. "I miss him too. I miss him too."

* * *

After Jon went to bed, I cleaned up the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and starting it, and then I wiped down the table and set things to rights so that when Connie came in the next morning she wouldn't have to face a big mess. It felt good to have something to do.

Molly shadowed me, walking patiently behind me as I moved around the kitchen. As I went to switch off the lights, I bent down to pet her. She looked up at me, her tail wagging, and it seemed I could read her thoughts. 

"No, girl," I told her quietly, "he's not coming back. It's just you and me now, kid. And we're gonna be okay, right?" She turned her sad eyes on me as if she didn't know for sure we'd be okay. 

As I turned to leave the kitchen, I beckoned to her to follow me, and she did, down the hall to our bedroom. We went in and I closed the door quietly behind us.

Moonlight filled the room. I stood and regarded the bed. Connie had made it that morning, so it looked neat, untouched. I went over and sat down on Jack's side of the bed. I reached over, grabbed his pillow, and held it to my face. I could still smell him on it. Rather than sad, it actually made me a little happy. I felt comforted by his scent.

After a minute or two, I put the pillow down, reached over, and snapped on the small lamp on the bedside table. There was nothing unusual there. Jack's spare pair of reading glasses. The latest copy of Time magazine. A small model of a classic 2004 Ford F-350 truck that he had patiently made and painted last year. 

I opened his bedside drawer. A couple of letters from the kids, sent to us last summer when they'd gone to Europe with friends. A half empty prescription bottle of Viagra. A few old photographs, one of him and Molly out in the yard, taken when Molly was just a puppy, one of Dana and Chris at their wedding, another of Jon and Josh taken in Harvard Yard, another of me, taken a couple of Christmases ago next to our tree. A couple of partially used tubes of lube. I took one of them out and looked at it as if I'd never seen it before. What was I searching for? I didn't know. I put everything back and closed the drawer with a thump. Molly sat there, staring at me patiently. I reached out and scratched her behind an ear. 

It was so quiet in the house; I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears. With a sigh, I got up and drew the drapes closed. Molly went to her basket where her bed was, turned around a couple of times, and then settled in, her head on her paws. Her eyes closed.

I methodically stripped off my clothes and went to take a shower in the master bath. Once the water was running hot, I stepped in and just stood there, arms braced against the wall, letting the almost scalding water cascade over my body.

Jack and I had made love in that shower countless times. My mind couldn't help going back to those memories, of strong arms around me, my husband's hard, insistent length possessing me, hands and teeth and lips pressing into me, owning me, taking as well as giving, always with gentle, insistent, demanding, sweet love. Sweet love. My sweet love.

I reached for the shampoo and scrubbed at my hair and then coated myself with shower gel, washing away the day, my mind far away from the mechanical chore I was completing. Jack. My mind was only on Jack. Jack and me. Jack in me. Me in Jack. My God, what we had had. My God. My body couldn't help but react to the memory of him.

The tears started as my hand took hold of my erection and I started to pull at it, slowly at first and then with ever increasing speed and friction. It felt so good, to cry and touch myself at the same time. As I came hard against the shower wall, letting it all go, all my misery and love, I sobbed Jack's name quietly into the crook of my arm, leaning against the tiles, still stroking myself as my cock shriveled. My sweet love. My love. 

Suddenly, as I got control of my tears, my face still hidden in my arm, he was there. He was in my mind's eye, so big, bigger than life, smiling at me, and he loved me. He loved me. I could see him, in my imagination, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that wherever he was, he was okay, and that he was still looking out for me and always would until we could be together again.

After another minute or two, I shut off the water, and within five more minutes, I was lying in our bed, hugging Jack's pillow tight against my chest. For the first time in two days, I was able to try to go to sleep without crying first. Jack. I love you, Jack. I love you. 

I slept.

* * *

The week went by quickly. Arrangements were made for Jack's funeral, to be held on Saturday afternoon at 1PM in our church, with a ceremony at the grave to immediately follow. It took days to reach everyone, and infinite patience to break the news to our friends and former coworkers, most of whom had thought they'd be coming in to Minneapolis on Saturday for an anniversary party. They were all still coming, but for a very different and much less joyous reason. 

I had arranged a flag for his casket, and a full military ceremony in the graveyard, including a 21-gun salute, which would be performed by the local VFW. Jack was a retired Brigadier General, and entitled to full military honors. He was a hero. He had the medals to prove it, and had done even more for his country and his world than the medals he had been awarded attested to, over and over again, although the knowledge of that was not shared by many. Not even our kids knew about the SGC and the Stargate.

Dana and Jon were my rocks during that week. I suppose we all were quieter than usual, but we had some good times, too. The kids went with their husband and boyfriend to see their old Minneapolis friends and took the time once in a while to take one of the cars to go out and spend time alone with each other. 

The September weather was perfect, warm, but a relief from the intense heat of summer. Fall was in the air, but day after day, nature clung to the sunshine and blue skies, the gentleness that only seems to be possible in the lingering days of September.

It was hard for the kids to see Jack, of course, especially the first time. It was hard for all of us. I went to the funeral home every day to see him, the kids less often. 

Sometimes I just sat in a chair in the room with him, my mind far away, remembering our early days together back with the SGC, all the adventures we'd had as we traveled through the gate, and all the danger we'd put ourselves in. I remembered Sam and Teal'c, and General Hammond, Siler, Paul Davis and Walter Davis, Feretti, Rothman, Kawalsky, so many others.

Sometimes I remembered our marriage ceremony. The look in Jack's warm eyes, deep brown and liquid like Irish whiskey, when he'd said his vows to me. Our first kiss as a married couple. The feeling of his warm hand in mine as we'd looked down at our matching rings and been blown away by what we had done. The way we had promised each other that we were forever. 

Sometimes I thought about holding those brand new babies we'd been given back in 2011. I remembered their first steps. Their first words. The moment when we realized that one was Jack's and one was mine, and they both were ours. Their graduation from high school. Their life in Cambridge. Chris and Josh and how they loved our kids.

Sometimes I remembered our lovemaking. I remembered Jack's laugh, his eyes, his hands, his body, every inch of which I knew as well as my own. If I concentrated, I could still feel his lips on mine, his fingers on my skin, the way he looked at me and only me. 

Sometimes I cried. 

Sometimes I found myself smiling. 

And always, I was aware that Jack wasn't there in that small room with me. Oh, his body was there, so still, so serious, so very proper; three things Jack had never been while alive. But the essence of Jack, who he had been, was well and truly gone. Wherever his God had taken him, he was no longer there in his body, in that room, with me. I had a peace about that, since I knew the universe held wonders more unbelievable than any mere human could ever imagine. 

Jack had believed in God, and he'd believed in a happy, peaceful place where he would go upon his death, where I could join him some day, and we'd be together again. And who was I to argue with that? In fact, it sounded good to me. Really good.

* * *

~~Friday, September 24, 2032~~

On Friday evening, the night before the funeral, I went to see Jack one last time. The kids had said their final good-byes earlier, and I wanted this to be a private time for me to be with Jack. This would be the last time I would see him on this earth, and I had some things to say and do. 

The funeral home director met me at the door as I came in. "Good evening, Doctor Jackson."

I gave the man a smile. He and his staff had been godsends for the past few days. They had known exactly what I needed, almost before I knew it myself, and had guided my decisions and advised me about the funeral. They were quiet people, somber but friendly.

"Hello." I stopped to talk to him for a moment. "Oh, I wanted to remind you that I don't want the casket open at the funeral tomorrow, right? You'll remember?" I asked him. 

He nodded. "Yes, I'll make sure that's done. He'll be there in the church, and people can file by and pay their respects, but there will be no viewing. 

"I must ask you, Doctor Jackson, did you want to come by to see him again in the morning?" 

"No," I said softly, my eyes on the floor. "Tonight will be the last time. When I leave, you can close the casket." 

I lifted my eyes to him and held out my hand to shake his. "Thanks again for everything you and your people have done. I would have been lost without you." At his little shrug and smile, I hurried on to say, "I know it's your business, but I just wanted you to know it's meant a lot to me and to my family."

"Well, you're very welcome," he murmured, dropping my hand. "Please, go in to be with General O'Neill now. Take your time, as long as you need. And Doctor Jackson?" 

I looked back at him, pausing as I was turning away. "It was our privilege to be here for you. You're right. It is our job. But we are glad to help out." 

"I'll see you tomorrow then," I said to him, and turned to go in to be with Jack.

* * *

The small room where Jack lay was awash in soft light as I walked in. I closed the door behind me and slowly walked between the twenty or so chairs that were set up there, my eyes taking in the casket, surrounded by a bank of beautiful flowers. An American flag, folded into neat thirds, was draped over the end of the casket. Off to one side, a small altar had been set up with a crucifix and lighted candles and a framed photo of a handsome, proud Jack, dressed in his Class A's, taken back in the day, at the SGC. 

I came right up to the casket and leaned into the side of it so I could look down at Jack's face and upper body. I let my eyes rove over him, memorizing every detail to recall later. 

His silver metal casket was lined in pale blue silk, his head and shoulders supported by a fluffy pillow of the same color. I'd had him dressed in the new black suit he had bought for our anniversary party. It was fashioned of fine lightweight wool, with narrow lapels. He had on the new white shirt he'd bought to go with the suit, and a conservative tie of a silver, black, and pale gray geometric design. 

His face was peaceful and smooth, almost unlined. His pure silver hair, still amazingly full despite his age, fell over onto his forehead just a bit, shining in the light. His eyes were closed in rest. How I longed to see their smoky depths once more, but now they were closed forever, long dark eyelashes resting on his cheeks.

His hands were crossed on his chest, one on top of the other. He still wore his wedding band, and would to the grave, since I had decided it should stay on his hand, right where it had been for 25 years. Dana had left him one of her rosaries, and she had threaded it through his fingers, so that it draped over onto his chest in a scattering of silver and ruby colored beads.

I reached out one hand and gently ran my fingers along his face, from his hairline, down along his sideburn, across his cheek and onto his chin. He was so cold and unnaturally rigid now. But I had to touch his face one last time.

"Jack," I breathed. "Jack." I started to cry, sniffing and just letting the tears fall. "Jack."

I put my hands on the edge of the casket and just continued to look at him. This was it. This was the last time I'd ever see Jack's body. I wanted the moment to go on forever. I wanted for none of this to have happened. I wanted to run away, even though I knew there was no place I could go where I could find him. 

I took out my handkerchief, wiped my nose, and took off my glasses so I could wipe them and my eyes. I took a deep breath and leaned over him again.

"Well, old man, this is it," I told him softly. "Do you know how much I love you?" I looked him over and tried to smile. "You do, I know you do." 

I stepped back a bit and fished in my pocket for the small velvet box I'd put there earlier. "I brought you your anniversary present, babe." I opened the box and gazed at the ring I'd bought Jack as a surprise. I took it out of its velvet bed and then returned the box to my pocket. I took hold of Jack's right hand and slowly pushed the ring onto his stiff finger. It was hard to get it on, but finally I coaxed it into place. I made sure it was where I wanted it to be, and then rearranged his hands again. 

I looked at it there on his finger. "Happy anniversary, Jack," I whispered. "Happy twenty-fifth."

The ring was silver, gleaming brightly in its shiny newness. It was a Claddagh ring, an Irish symbol of love, loyalty, and friendship. Certainly those three things were things Jack and I had shared and cherished during all our years together. As I looked at it, I thought about its symbolism, the clasped hands of friendship, the heart of love, and the crown of loyalty. There on his hand, shiny and pristine, it contrasted sharply with the one on his other hand, Jack's wedding ring, buffed to a rich patina and worn from daily wear and our shared history. The two rings were symbolic of all we'd been through together. And both of them would be buried with him.

I knew that what Jack wanted was for me not to be buried with him. I had promised him, that last day of his life, that I would go on and make the best of what time was left to me, that I would have a future, as happy a one as I could manage. 

"I won't forget," I told him, just whispering now. "You made me promise, remember? And I'll do my best to go on, Jack. It's not easy, y'know." The tears began to fall again, and I wiped at them impatiently with one hand. "But then, you and I, we never were exactly easy, were we? I'm glad for you, you know. I'm glad you'll never have to go through what I'm going through now." 

I lowered myself onto the small kneeler at the coffin, dropped my face onto my hands as they gripped the side of the coffin and just let my tears fall. I had never felt such despair or self-pity in my life. I let myself wallow in both for a few minutes and finally got to my feet again.

After wiping up my face and glasses again, I took a deep breath. I looked into Jack's face. "I love you, Jack O'Neill," I told him fiercely. "And I always will. I hope we see each other again some day, babe. I hope you'll wait for me up there." 

I slipped my hand under his cold, unyielding ones for a second. Leaning forward, I placed a tiny kiss on his lips and then another on his forehead. "Good-bye, Jack," I whispered. "Everything's okay. I love you."

* * *

EPILOGUE

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

~~Saturday, May 25, 2033~~

"Woohoo!" I enthused. "That is good news!" I held the phone to my ear, standing in my kitchen. Connie was cooking breakfast, and Molly was dancing around my feet, her eyes bright, wondering if whatever Dad was so excited about might be for her.

I looked over at Connie and gave her a thumb's up and a big grin. She wiped her hands and came over close to me, smiling widely.

"That is so wonderful, Chris," I said. "And Dana is just fine, right?" I listened for a moment, making eye contact with Connie and nodding at her. "That's great. Did you call Jon yet? Oh, you're gonna call him now? Make sure you call him Uncle Jon, okay? And tell him I said so." I laughed in delight. Chris sounded so excited and proud. I remembered the feeling well. "Okay, Chris. I'm flying out in one week, just to give Dana time to get on her feet a little. I'd like to get on a plane this afternoon!!" I laughed again. "Okay, kiss them all for me. Talk to you soon. Bye."

I hung up the phone, looked at Connie and we both burst out laughing. I threw my arms around her and guided her in a little impromptu dance around the kitchen island. 

Molly started to woof in excitement. I stopped dancing and leaned down to ruffle her fur. 

Connie was giggling. "Grandpa Daniel. Who'd a thunk it?" 

As Teal'c used to say, indeed. Who'd a thunk it?

* * *

When I pulled up in the cemetery later that morning, I sat in the car for a moment, reflecting on the past eight months. Those months had certainly been interesting. Painfully, frustratingly, infuriatingly interesting. Today was a good day, though, and I had to talk to Jack. I knew I could talk to him anywhere, and often did, but on this day, I needed to get as close to what remained of him as I could.

I had brought him roses, a bouquet of five long stemmed blooms of pink, yellow, red, white and pale lavender, tied up with a silver ribbon. With a sigh, I slid out of the car, slammed the door, and started the short hike across the grass to our plot. I had been there often and knew the way well.

I had had Charlie moved to the Minneapolis gravesite from Colorado, something I hadn't realized Jack wanted until the reading of his will. As I approached our plot, I spotted the double gravestones there. The smaller one read CHARLES TYLER O'NEILL BELOVED SON OF SARA AND JACK 1985-1995 Next to it was a larger stone with both my name and Jack's. His side said BRIG. GEN. JONATHAN "JACK" O'NEILL USAF BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER 1953-2032 and on my side the stone read DANIEL PATRICK JACKSON BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER 1965- 

I had had the gray granite stone decorated with a large jumping trout in the upper corner on Jack's side and an ankh, the Egyptian symbol of life, in the upper corner on mine. In the middle, at the top between our names and the trout and ankh I had had an infinity symbol, like a figure eight lying on its side, engraved into the stone.

I could come here now and not feel such an overwhelming sadness and hopelessness anymore. At first, it had been very hard to come to the cemetery, but over the months, I had found that it was a good place for introspection and a kind of communion. It was peaceful there, and it was a place I could go to in joy, not just in loss.

I slowly lowered myself onto the grass in front of our headstone and sat cross-legged, holding the flowers in my lap. 

"Hello, Jack," I told him. I waited a minute in the silence. Sometimes I could almost hear him speak to me. "I brought you these roses today 'cause I got some good news, and I just had to come and tell you." 

Smiling wistfully, I put the roses down on the ground, under Jack's name, and spoke looking at the stone. "Chris called from Boston this morning, and Dana had the babies at 4AM. She's doing well, and so are the kids. A boy and a girl, remember I told you when they found out that they were having twins? And everybody's fine. The kids are over five pounds each, and the doctor says they're gonna be just fine." My eyes filled with tears.

"So congratulations, Grandpa. We did it. Our family is growing again." I sniffed and let the tears fall. "These are happy tears, babe. It's so nice to cry for a good reason for once. It's been a while."

I took some tissues out of my jacket pocket and blew my nose. "Anyway, like I said, she had a boy and a girl, just like we did. The little guy they named Jonathan Daniel, how about that? And Chris told me today, they've decided to call him Jack, after you, and so he won't get confused with his Uncle Jon. And our granddaughter is Victoria. Victoria May. 'Cause she was born in May, he said. The babies came a little early, Jack. You know what? They were conceived almost at the same time as you died. Weird huh? Weird and wonderful."

I laughed softly. "I know, shut up, Daniel. I'm yammering, aren't I? But I'm so happy, Jack, and that feels so good."

I leaned forward and played with the ribbon on the flowers. I bit at my bottom lip for a moment, thinking. "Remember when you told me to find someone I could go on with? You said to find someone I could sleep with and eat with and have fun with. All of these months, I haven't given that a thought. It was the farthest thing from my mind. But now I am starting to feel a little better. I know you'd be happy to hear that. You always wanted what was best for me. I know that. So I just wanna tell you, I'll do the best I can. You said my best was good enough for you, so that's what I'll do, okay?"

I sat in the silence for a while. The May sun was warm on my hair, and somewhere off in the distance a bird sang a happy little note, over and over. A gentle breeze dried my tears as they trickled down my cheeks. I picked up the roses and held them to my nose, remembering how Jack loved the roses we'd grown back in Colorado. When I put them back under Jack's name at the base of the gravestone, Jack seemed far away, but I knew he wasn't. He wasn't, not as long as I had breath left in my body. 

I stood up to go and looked down at Jack's name, engraved in stone, a permanent testament that he had lived and that he mattered.

"I do know," I whispered, "but only half as much as I love you."

~~finis~~


End file.
